


i think you know what you mean to me

by lyuyu



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Tags May Change, Tumblr Prompts, and everything in between, mostly just fluff though, some suggestive themes at times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29195163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyuyu/pseuds/lyuyu
Summary: collection of tumblr prompt fills, done for elliott and mason
Relationships: Male Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Kudos: 8





	1. a fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick

Mason groans quietly, the corner of the filing cabinet digging into his hip. “This gonna take a long time? I don’t fancy spending the rest of my evening here.”

Elliott shoots him a sharp glance from his desk. This is the third time he’s asked, this kind of impatience not typical for him.

“Trust me, being stuck with paperwork is hardly a treat for me either,” he mutters.

“No doubt about that, handsome,” Mason smirks lazily. “We could make it more entertaining though, if you’re interested.”

The detective rolls his eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Feeling the burn of his gaze resting firmly on him, a familiar rush of heat crawls onto his skin, raising goosebumps, though he tries to keep the spontaneous reaction from distracting him _too_ much.

“This won’t take much longer, I promise. Just let me focus.”

He doesn’t.

“You said,“ he starts, straightening up and walking over to him, “that we’d be out of here by 8:30.”

“Your point?”

“It’s way past that. I have places to be, Eli.”

“Oh,” Elliott huffs. “And where exactly do you need to be?”

Mason tilts his head to the side, a long grin spreading on his face. “Under you?”

Elliott pinches the bridge of his nose with a groan. With Nat not around to scold him, Mason sure doesn’t waste the opportunity to speak whatever pops into his mind.

"I can’t…” he mumbles, keeping his eyes on the reports spread before him. Any witty retort he was about to say dies on his lips. “I’ll be out of a job if I don’t do these, and then you won’t be seeing much more of me after that.”

“Guess you have a point,” Mason sets his hands on the desk, leaning forward with a devious sparkle in his eyes. “Though I have seen plenty of you already, haven’t I?”

Elliott snaps his gaze up to meet his. The intense grey seems to bore all the way down to his soul, and the detective lets out a slow, tense breath. A shiver runs down his spine, and it’s certainly clear now that focusing is not an option as long as Mason is here.

“Maybe you should wait outside.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you keep talking,” he huffs again, “and distracting me.”

He’s leaned almost all the way across the table now, face hovering only a small distance away from Elliott’s. “You could always shut me up.”

The air between them seems to crackle with pent up energy. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“And why’s that?” Mason’s eyes drop to his lips. Elliott swallows, though even that is with a great effort. His composure will last only so much longer with him so intimately in his space now. “There’s no one around—”

A surprised breath escapes Mason as Elliott grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him rest of the way forward, mouth crashing on his with a force of a tidal wave, pulling them both under its dizzying spell.

Mason grins into the kiss at his victory, sharp canines scraping the soft skin as he catches Eli’s bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a rough pull, tongue coming to mend the sting a moment after.

There’s no way in hell he’s going back to work after that.

“I knew you could be persuaded.”

“Shut up. Just shut up,” Elliott growls, “and go lock the door.”

Mason’s dark laugh fills the office.

“As you wish, handsome.”


	2. touch after a nightmare

_Have you missed me, Detective?_

Elliott shoots up, cold shivers running down his spine, breathing heavy and ragged—Murphy’s shit-eating grin is carved into the back of his mind, the goddamn bane of his existence, and one can only bury those bloody memories so deep until they dig their way back up to remind of their insistent presence once more.

The scar on his neck pulsates with vicious phantom pain. He refuses to touch it consciously, opting to deny the fact that it’s even there—maybe one day it’ll have faded for good, but until then, his favoured alternative is to wait and ignore it to his best effort.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, dampened by sweat. Going back to sleep never is an option after these so-called dreams.

Instead, Elliott climbs up, stretching off the soreness of his muscles, a reminder of Mason’s last night’s visit—a much more pleasant memory, one that somehow manages to bring a languid smile on his face despite the restless sleep. He avoids looking in the standing mirror of his bedroom as he heads out: he knows he looks like hell even without having to actually confirm it.

The living room is dark and quiet, but the static hum of electronics scattered all around it brings a welcome white noise. Fumbling for the light switch, he takes in the comfort of it all: his room at the Warehouse is nice, but nothing quite beats being at home. Everything here is truly safe and familiar, no surprises lurking around the corner.

Well, except for the vampire sprawled on his couch; it takes only a second for him to recognize it’s Mason, and though his heart undoubtedly skips a beat or two, his mind is quick to write his finding as a non-threat.

“I thought you’d left,” Elliott breathes. Mason gives him a nonchalant shrug, but his eyes quickly go to study him, clearly taking note of his disturbed appearance.

“Bad dreams?” he asks, at which Eli nods. Mason pushes himself up to sit, creating more room on the couch. “You alright?”

Elliott walks over and takes a seat next to him. He hunches forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees; then, he lets out a sound that’s a mixture of a sigh and a groan. “Could be better.”

He drags a hand across his face, and without realizing it, it then goes to cup the side of his neck, palm rubbing lightly against it. The ghost of the pain is still there—as are the memories, and now that they’ve awoken, it’s difficult to swallow them back down.

Elliott makes the mistake of closing his eyes, vivid flashbacks playing behind them in an instant. A lump forms in his throat, making his voice crack as he mumbles, “Fuck.”

He has cried in front of Mason before, after Sanja’s rescue mission had gone to shit and beyond thanks to him all those months ago, but it wasn’t something he was looking forward to repeating. The funny thing about emotions though, is that they don’t exactly ask for permission when they come, just like the tears burning his eyes now won’t wait for one before falling down.

He tries to stifle the broken sob that fights to escape him with thin success. It’s the only one that comes, but it’s enough for Mason to set his hand on the back of his neck and give it a small squeeze, thumb drawing comforting circles on his skin. (Just like he did back then, when Elliott was heartbroken over his failure, costing Sanja.)

Only this time, he does speak, the words he murmurs unusually soft, “You’re going to be fine, Eli. They won’t last forever.”

“I know.” Mason’s hand falls away as Elliott leans against the back of the couch, wiping his eyes. “I just wish I could forget it ever happened.”

At the agent’s wry chuckle, he lifts his eyes to meet his. “Remembering isn’t always a bad thing.”

The remark makes him wince. “Right. I’m sorry.”

Mason dismisses his worry with a wave of a hand.

Elliott nestles further against the cushions. He leans his head back, the scar on his neck now on full display; it catches Mason’s undivided focus, causing the slightest thoughtful frown form on his face.

“You know,” he says quietly, drawing Elliott’s attention to him, “if it weren’t for the Agency’s protocols, I would’ve killed Murphy right there and then.”

“Really?” he asks, a tiny hint of disbelief in his voice. “You really would’ve just… killed him?”

Mason shrugs. “Yeah.”

The statement isn’t wholly unexpected, yet it still leaves Elliott at a loss for words. “Oh.”

They both fall quiet, Mason tearing his stare away from the scar and meeting Elliott’s. Like this, his gaze is surprisingly soft, though still intense and piercing, but the look in it is different from the kind Elliott has witnessed before.

It is not heated or searing, which he’s used to; instead, it has a hint of genuine, gentle warmth to it. (And though paying attention to detail never has been his specialty, he does not miss the subtle dilation of Mason’s pupils, either.)

That’s odd.

The moment lingers on, as do their held stares. After a while, Elliott whispers, “Thanks. You know, for being here.”

He lifts his hand, reaching to brush the back of his fingers against Mason’s cheek, half-expecting for him to dodge the touch; yet he doesn’t. Instead, he seems to ever-so-slightly lean into the touch, though he keeps his expression trained carefully neutral.

He shrugs again, as though the moment had been nothing out of ordinary. “No need, handsome.” His eyes then drop down to Elliott’s lips, a smirk tugging at his own, “Though if you insist, and you’re not too shaken, I can think of some ways you could thank me.”

Elliott chuckles, “I’m afraid the most you’ll get out of me is a cuddle, if you’ll have it.”

Mason rolls his eyes, though the gesture seems more joking than anything else. He scoots closer as Elliott raises his arm as an invitation, and he settles against his side with a sigh. “This is what I get for sticking around you for too long, Eli. All humdrum bullshit and no sex.”

“Now you _know_ that is not true,” he retorts. Mason tilts his face up, a long, teasing smirk still on him. Elliott leans down to give him a quick kiss. “You give me this, and I’ll thank you the way you want in the morning. Deal?”

“Ugh, fine. Deal.”

The next hour is filled with lighthearted chit-chat and familiar flirty banter, kisses both long, slow, and light and quick. At some point, they’ve moved to lie down, Mason on top of him, and before either of them even realize to fight it, they’ve already fallen asleep there. Even Mason.

The static hum is the only sound alongside their steady breaths. Nightmares of Murphy keep away for the rest of that night.


	3. tugging on the bottom of one's shirt

Mason quickly comes to regret the decision to join the rest of the team to Laycott’s.

It’s loud and chaotic and his senses are overladen, all of it too much—and though he’s tried his best to relax and ease into their surroundings, so far, he’s had little success in doing so. Even with the rest of the team chatting around him, seated in their usual corner booth, he can’t bring himself to focus on them; his gaze seems to constantly drift to find Elliott loitering around the bar counter instead.

It certainly doesn’t help his case that that fucking reporter ex of his is glued to his side once again, flirt sparkling in his eyes, touching him so freely—and though Elliott doesn’t seem too affected by it, he isn’t exactly refusing the given attention either.

It shouldn’t bother him this much, really, but it does. Annoys the fuck out of him, to be quite honest, and picking up bits and pieces of the pent up banter exchanged between them, Mason only further fires up his own frustration.

Bobby’s fingers skim over Elliott’s side, dancing down, his hand comes to ghost just over his hip. Eli raises a brow at the motion, his eyes going to Bobby’s hand and he shifts, not uncomfortably, but there’s some odd emotion that seems to flash in his gaze; and as if echoing him, Mason notices a tug of some unfamiliar feeling tickling at the edge of his mind too.

It can’t be worry, or fear, can it? Or even worse, jealousy—but he has no reason to be such. He tries to shrug it off, to turn his stare away, but it keeps getting drawn back to the two, the crease of his brows so deep it almost obscures his view by now.

Elliott says something that makes Bobby press himself even closer to him, his lips quirked in a twisted smirk and a gleam of danger in his eyes, and—Mason doesn’t get his whole answer, but he sure as hell catches him calling Eli _handsome_.

His beer bottle suffers a crack or two as he slams it down on the table.

“Mason?” Nat calls, but he ignores her, standing abruptly up.

He doesn’t think of it further, his feet taking him towards them before he ever could even consider stopping himself, and judging from how startled Elliott looks when he sees him approach, Mason must have screaming murder written all over his face.

“Let’s go,” he says the second he reaches them, taking hold of Elliott’s wrist and tugging him along.

“Uh, okay?”

“Hey, what the—” Bobby yelps; Mason snaps his head to him, a deep growl rumbling out like thunder, and all color drains from the reporter’s face at the sound. Elliott laughs nervously.

“I’ll, uh, see you around, Bobby—”

“No, you won’t,” Mason interrupts and yanks him on the move.

Stumbling after him, Eli barely manages to lean down to whisper to him. “Jesus Christ, Mason,” he huffs, “you can’t just fucking _growl_ at people.”

He doesn’t answer.

*

They crash through his front door with such a force they barely avoid toppling over; Mason kicks the door shut after him, rushing to return to Elliott’s mouth with fervor so intense it leaves them both dizzy and gasping for air.

Nudging him towards the couch, the bedroom too far for his liking, he tugs at the bottom of Eli’s dress shirt, hissing through his teeth between the kisses, “Take this off.”

“Yeah, just let me—”

But before Elliott can get another word in, let alone begin to work on the demand, Mason has already ripped the shirt open, buttons falling on the floor, faintly tinkling against the wooden material. Eli pauses to stare at them for only a moment.

“Um,” he starts, eyes slowly returning up to Mason. An amused grin rises on his mouth and he shrugs. “I guess that’s one way to do it.”

“You were too slow,” Mason murmurs, continuing to steer him towards the couch until Elliott’s legs hit the edge of it, and he tumbles down, Mason falling down on his lap.

He runs his hands over his chest, only then coming to think of how badly he’s been craving to feel him again, even though the last time he’d had Eli like this was no longer than two days ago.

He pushes the shirt off Eli’s shoulders, bowing down to kiss his collarbones with urgency unlike before; maybe it had been fear after all, of losing him, losing what they have, to someone as undeserving as _Bobby_.

“Mason,” Elliott sighs his name, head dropping back, the heat that exudes and crackles between them washing over him like riptide. He’s everywhere, hands grabbing at him greedily; Mason finds himself blinded by not lust, but something more, something all-consuming that has so thoroughly _fucked him up_ beyond repair.

And both the best and the worst part is, that he does not want to be _fixed_. Pulling back, daring to stop to meet Elliott’s gaze, the hypnotizing deep blue of it has been swallowed and turned black by blown pupils, and he knows, he _knows_ that this has gone way farther than he ever imagined it would.

When Elliott catches his lips again, he kisses him with the same, slow-paced intimacy he had what feels like ages ago now. Drags it out, coaxes a shivery moan out of Mason, and god, he fucking hates and he loves it, how he makes it feel like he does it more out of love than of lust.

They break apart, breathless and speechless, and that same feeling has bled its way into how Eli gazes up at him.

So shamelessly fucking in love with him.

And though it terrifies him more than anything, Mason knows that he looks at Elliott the same.


	4. nap

They murmur in a barely-awake daze, confessions of love hidden in droplets of soft-voiced annoyance—“ _Your hair is in my eyes_.” A deep inhale, one kiss dropped on Elliott’s shoulder and a chuckle, “ _And you snore fucking loud.”_

Yet still, Mason is curled up against him and teeters on the edge of sweet slumber, he buries himself further into Elliott’s arms so willingly – despite both of those facts, that Mason’s hair is in Elliott’s eyes and his snoring does not only fill the room, but rumbles so loudly from within his chest that Mason can feel its vibration against his cheek.

(But, it’s so wonderfully peaceful, only noon and no rush, and they sleep.)


	5. shimmer

Mason is, what Elliott would call, a _rough beauty_.

Rough with his steely stare, sharp lines and a voice that rumbles, the words he speaks never certainly doing anything to soften him—and always clicking his tongue loudly in shameless disinterest, veiled by thick, bitter clouds of cigarette smoke.

(But it is his roughness that makes him beautiful, when it’s four in the morning and the rest of the world sleeps, and they’re on the rooftop alone, undisturbed.)

Mason clicks his tongue at a snarky remark Elliott makes, tells him to shut up with a raspy chuckle, and his hair almost hide his eyes, but Mason’s head jerks back with the short laugh just so that they fall away.

And thank goodness they do; moonlight dances in the grey of his gaze, paints them pale yet warm and they shimmer so brightly, and Elliott can’t help but to stare in wonder.


	6. tender

White sheets, morning light. Warm skin and freckles, winter moon and stars outside on a pale blue sky.

Eli asks a quiet question: “How do you want me?”

A smile and a kiss, slow and sweet, and a whisper that shivers, yet an answer so certain.

“ _Tender_.”


	7. things you said at 1am

Elliott is _loud_ , but not in the way Mason usually prefers him to be.

They are seated at his kitchen table, and Mason grits his teeth so hard he’s almost worried he’ll break his jaw soon; it has never bothered him before but in the midnight silence, it’s next to impossible to ignore the obscene sounds that Elliott eating cereal makes.

Elliott is as carefree as ever, phone in one hand and drowned in whatever he’s doing with it, leg bouncing in an absentminded manner as he continues to enjoy what he’d called ‘his necessary pre-sleep refueling’.

(“ _Just say you’re hungry,_ ” Mason had told him with a dry smile. “ _I’m not gonna judge you for your eating habits_.”)

He’s starting to regret saying that now. The sight would border on charming if it weren’t for the loudness of the scene, and even the remaining hopes of it turning into that vanish into thin air when Elliott downs the leftover milk from the bowl with a noisy slurp.

It’s the last straw, really.

“Were you always this loud?” Mason asks, a lasting grimace sitting on his face. Elliott shifts his eyes up to meet his.

“Sorry?”

“You’re almost thirty,” he grumbles, “but you eat like a five-year-old.”

Elliott seems stunned for a moment, but he mocks a pout quickly enough. “You said you’re not gonna judge me.”

“That was before I knew you sound like a fucking baby dinosaur when you eat.”

“Are you serious?” He laughs, though it comes out a little strained. He pushes himself away from the table and stands up, gathering the bowl and a tea mug that sits next to it. He turns to make for the kitchen with a shake of his head. “Gee, thanks. Love you too.”

 _…What was that?_ Mason is quick to follow after him, yet he hesitates to close the rest of the distance between them at first. Elliott sets the dishes in the sink, seemingly debating whether to wash them now or later.

(He decides on _later_.)

“I never said I…” Mason scoffs, the rebuttal dying on his lips when Elliott turns around to face him with his brows raised. He crosses his arms over his chest with another scoff. “Whatever.”

Elliott chuckles lightly, even though he looks a bit confused. “It’s just a saying, Mason. No need to get all…” He gestures at him up and down with his finger. “Panicky.”

Mason’s arms tighten further around him. “I’m not _panicky_.” His tension unfurls only so much when Elliott comes to stand in front of him and sets his hands on his arms. “Just came out of nowhere, is all.”

“I get it.” Elliott leans down to brush a quick kiss on the top of his head. “I’m sorry. It was just a joke.”

“It’s fine,” he growls, the disapproving sound aimed more at the gesture than the apology it’d come with. He glances up at him, a heavy frown still rooted on his face as he shifts in his place uneasily. “…It’s late. You should sleep.”

Elliott sighs, giving a soft squeeze before he lets go of his arms. “Yeah. Sure.”

He moves past Mason, raising a hand and running it through his hair as he makes it towards the bathroom. He only manages to take a few steps forward before Mason calls after him. “Eli, wait.”

(It doesn’t come without an annoyed groan, though.)

Elliott stops in his tracks. He turns to face him almost reluctantly, and it doesn’t make it any better that he finds Mason looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah?”

It takes him a moment, but eventually, Mason meets his eye. His scowl has acquired an uncertain, even hesitant, tinge to it.

“…Never mind.”

They remain still in the tense silence that feels to last forever. It’s only broken by Elliott’s weak, awkward chuckle.

“So… You, um,” he says and nods his head towards the bedroom, “want to come to bed?”

Mason’s shoulders drop slightly in apparent relief. “Yeah.”

With a faint smile, Elliott beckons him closer. He drapes his arm around Mason’s shoulders when he comes to him, and as a very different kind of quiet settles between them, they head off to bed.


	8. dying kiss

“Elliott—Eli, just keep your eyes open, okay?”

Mason’s voice is—unusual, frantic, panicked—something it ever is not, his hands gripping Elliott’s shoulders, gathering him up in his arms. “Stay with me, handsome.”

Words he never says slip out: a _please_ , and _I love you_. A shaky _don’t do this to me_ , though he knows it is out of his, their hands, the ever-languishing frame of Elliott’s melting into his desperate embrace.

Something burns Mason’s eyes. Something he tries to blink away. Something that falls. Something that wets Eli’s cheeks.

“Stay with me, _please_.”

Elliott smiles. He may be coughing and shiver, grow cold and gasp, but he _smiles_ , and perhaps in an effort to not see it (though he wants to, needs to, savor it, for these last moments,) Mason catches his lips with his own.

And fuck, they’re cold.

“In next life, maybe,” Elliott whispers.


	9. things you didn't say at all

Their vocabulary doesn’t consist of sweet, soft words, not of confessions or idle compliments, that much they’d always known.

And so, when the time of their separation comes, Elliott standing in the doorway of his apartment with his packed suitcase and ready to take off for three weeks to attend a mandatory series of seminars in the big city, Mason struggles to find the right words to tell the irrefutable truth: he _will_ miss him when he’s gone; it _will_ feel like he’s missing a piece of himself; Elliott _will_ be taking a part of Mason with him when he goes.

Perhaps, in the shadow of his own inner storm, he doesn’t come to think more of the odd hollowness that is written all over Eli’s face too. After all, it is only three weeks (that _will_ feel like an eternity), and this isn’t that serious (it’s so much more), and _shit_ , Elliott probably won’t even think about him twice.

(Little does Mason know, he will and he _does._ )

He’s not all that sure why he even came to see him off, but it somehow had seemed such an obvious thing to do. Sensical, logical, you name it, but maybe he shouldn’t have, because being here and watching Elliott leave is so much worse than just knowing that he’s going to, and it annoys the living hell out of Mason to have this weird ache pull at his chest when Elliott finally opens the door and they step outside and walk down to his car in somber silence.

Mason takes the suitcase from him and tosses it in the back without even thinking about it. It gains him a quizzical glance from Eli, but even that sneaks past him, mind muddied and thoroughly preoccupied with the recurring question of _“What the hell am I going to do while he’s away?”_

It only vanishes from his head when Elliott clears his throat, drawing Mason’s attention back to him. He’s leaning nonchalantly against the car, hands shoved inside the pockets of his jacket.

“Guess I should get going,” he states.

Mason nods and crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his lips together. “Yeah.”

Another silence comes, though it doesn’t last longer than a few short moments. Elliott pushes himself off the car, closing the little distance carefully left between them.

He sneaks one hand out of his pocket, hooking a finger under Mason’s chin and tilting his face up so that their eyes meet. He tries to offer a smile but it wavers, if just a little. “Try to behave while I’m gone?”

“You know that’s a promise I can’t keep, handsome,” he replies, though there’s little humor in his voice. It makes Eli laugh softly regardless.

“Yeah, I know.”

Their gazes remain on one another; Elliott brushes a thumb over Mason’s bottom lip, lets it linger there, the simple gesture bringing fleeting comfort and a faint frown on both of them.

Mason unfolds his arms to grab the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer and grunting, “Just—hurry up and come back quick, alright?”

“I’ll try,” Elliott chuckles.

He rushes to continue, “And think about me?”

(The question, it’s needy, he _knows_ , but it comes out before he can stop it.)

His hand comes to cup Mason’s cheek. “I thought that was a given.”

And maybe it was, just like the kiss that follows his answer (it’s _sweet_ and _soft_ and speaks all the words of confessions and idle compliments on their behalf;

 _I’ll miss you, I know it’s only a few weeks but_ fuck _, it still sucks,_

_you’re amazing, I don’t want to go,_

_please stay, or maybe I could come with you,_

_I love you I love you I love you)._

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @lyuyu <3


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